Dear Jonathan Franzen,
Sure, I would like to read your New York Times piece all about the hollow emptiness of today’s consumer culture. I mean, if I don’t read it, how will I ever know if it contains any awkward mentions of David Foster Wallace? How will I see whether you try to carry this fairytale about commerce stealing weddings away from love all the way through your piece? I wanted to sip on my Diet Coke and laugh at your big man brain pretending like marriage has a long history of being about love that this darned old modern age stole from us.
But alas, I cannot, because the New York Times is attempting to commodify your writing about your feelings about love. I hope you write a long article about that in which you overlook that the New York Times has always been about the commodification of writing about people’s feelings on a lot of things.
That will be deeply funny to me.